The Great Gatsby With Zombies
by happyferret13
Summary: Because everything is made better by zombies. Gatsby, Nick, Daisy, Tom and Jordan head to the city on the hottest day of the summer to find it overrun by zombies. Can they put their differences aside in order to survive? T for mild cursing, violence, gore. From Nick's POV. Reviews, please.
1. Disclaimer

I don't own _The Great Gatsby, _or anything about it. The only part of this that is mine is the idea of a zombie apocalypse. Thanks. Enjoy. :P


	2. Empty

Empty. The entire city was vast and desolate and unnerving. It made me want to cry. We stood on the sidewalk, the five of us, and just gawked at the sight. People were dead in their cars, dead on the street, dead everywhere. And, frighteningly, many of them were walking. The _dead _bodies were _walking, _and they were eating the corpses of some of the other dead people, the ones that weren't reanimated. Daisy let out a choked cry, and the things turned towards us. They began to advance towards us, and quietly, we started in the other direction, shuffling quietly at first, then, after we put some distance between ourselves and the creatures, sprinting hastily, almost trampling each other, Daisy sobbing, and Tom grumbling about Gatsby. Gatsby, thinking on his feet, stopped and swung open a door to a building, holding it open as Daisy, Jordan and I rushed in. He closed it before Tom got there, who entered moments later, seething.

"Hey!" he shouted angrily. Gatsby stepped forward, while Jordan, Daisy and I backed slowly a corner of the room. It was a lobby, adorned with a secretary's desk on the west, a couple of chairs and side tables on the east, and another door at the north.

"Shh," Gatsby replied coolly. "You don't want to attract those... things."

"Maybe I want to!" Tom roared. "So they can rip you to pieces and eat you and I can have Daisy!"

"This has nothing to do with her."

"It has _everything _to do with her!"

"Please!" Daisy cried, "Don't argue over me like I'm not even here!"

"What does it matter if you're not with me!?" Tom slammed his fist against the wall.

"Daisy..." Gatsby whispered. He took a half-step back, tentatively, eyeing Tom cautiously. "Tell him."

"Jay, please, not now." There was a thud, and we all turned towards the door through which we entered the small room. More noise followed, including a faint, guttural moaning. The things, as Gatsby had called them, were trying to break in. Gatsby picked up one of the side tables, and broke off a leg. I stared at him in fascination as he took the jagged-ended piece of wood and approached the door.

"Daisy," he said firmly, "Get back. All of you." He reached out a shaky hand and drew the door open. The things started shambling in – that's what I'll call them, Things. He allowed one to enter, then slammed the door shut quickly again, and I could hear the snap of bone as one of the Thing's arms was crushed in the door. Gatsby grimaced. "We have to figure out how to kill these things," he explained, thrusting the wood through the Thing's stomach. It made a low-pitched gargling noise, but it didn't die. Then he swatted it across the head, and it kept on coming. Finally, with a grunt, he plunged the stake through the Thing's head, right where the brain is, and it keeled over backwards. Daisy gasped. "The head," Gatsby recapped, frowning at the dead Thing on the ground. "You have to get it in the head."

"You're a murderer," Tom accused, smirking.

"Tom!" protested Daisy, to no avail.

"You just killed a man!"

"That," Gatsby scoffed, motioning towards the disfigured corpse lying at his feet, "Is _not _a man. That's… well, I don't know, but it sure as hell isn't a man."

"But you _killed _it, you son of a bitch!"

"Did you see those things outside? They were eating human corpses. I don't think they'd mind fresh meat." We stood in silence, looking at each other tensely.

"Do you suppose the rest of this place is clear?" Jordan asked, gesturing superfluously at the door on the south of the room.

"We can find out," Tom said gruffly. "We _should _find out." Then, after a pause, "I nominate Gatsby."

"I'll go with," I offered. "We shouldn't split up."

"You're right," Daisy agreed. "Let's stay together." Tom grunted something that might've been a begrudging approval, and Jordan nodded.

"So," she asked, "Are we going?"

"Yes," Tom said emphatically. Gatsby swung the door open, hoping nothing would be on the other side. The door lead into a long corridor, lined with six doors total, three on either side. Gatsby went ahead.

"One of the rooms is a closet. Two are bathrooms. The other three are unmarked," he explained. "I'm going to try the closet." He rattled the doorknob, and the door slid right open. A woman gasped. It wasn't Daisy, and it wasn't Jordan. I scooted next to Gatsby. There, on the floor in the closet, sat George and Myrtle Wilson, cradled in each other's arms.


	3. Visitors

"How…" George began. Myrtle simply stared, wide-eyed.

"Nick, right?" she asked me.

"George? Myrtle?" I heard a voice behind me ask. Tom.

"Tom?" George questioned.

"Yeah. How'd you get here? What happened?"

"I don't know what _it _is, exactly, but I can explain it," George offered.

"So can I," Myrtle chimed.

"Please, do," Gatsby said. We lead the two out of the closet, and arranged ourselves on the chairs in the lobby.

"These are a lot more comfortable than the floor," George said.

"You said you could explain what's going on," Tom said. "Tell us."

"Well," he began, "Those things, the corpses, we call 'em Biters. Anyway, we were just comin' down here to, well, I don't even know. Just to get out. And when we got here, it was chaos. It's all quiet now. That's 'cause most everyone is dead now. Before, there were people all running around and screaming and people was getting shot. So me and Myrtle, we came in here, and we hid in the closet. That's how we got here.

"Now for what this actually is. It's sort of like the flu, whatever is making the dead people come back as Biters, but the point is, it's catchable. Spread through getting bit or scratched by one of the things. You get all sick, like the flu, too, sort of. You get all hot and tired and you vomit – I saw this all firsthand – and you get really weak and sick, and then you start having seizures, and then you die, an' a few minutes later, you come back as a Biter, but you're not _you _anymore, per say. You're mind's all fuzzy, and you got no control. All you can think about is needing to eat.

"It's that needing to eat that makes the Biters Biters. It makes them go around lookin' for food. Flesh. They'll take dead meat, clearly, but they like live meat even more. Fresh meat. If they don't eat you whole, you turn into a Biter once they get you. That's all there is to it, really." All there was to it? That was a lot. I was dumfounded. I glanced around at the others. Daisy looked stricken. Jordan still had an I-don't-care attitude. Tom was still annoyed. And Gatsby was pale. Subconsciously, he checked his arms for bite marks.

"Are you all alright?" Myrtle asked. "How did you guys get here?"

"Came up here for lunch or a movie or something. It's _so _hot," Daisy replied. I had completely forgotten about the stifling heat, although beads of sweat still rolled down our foreheads.

"Catherine," Myrtle said quietly. "I wonder if she's okay."

"Yeah," Tom agreed.

"So, is this everywhere?" Gatsby asked.

"As far as I know, and as far as I've been," George responded solemnly.

"Oh."

"We should do something," suggested Jordan.

"Like what?" I asked. What was there to do?

"I don't know. Fight, I guess. Get stuff we need, make a campout somewhere. _Survive, _really."

"This place is clear," George said.

"Yeah. This is an office building. The company that owned it just sold it, so the place was empty. We can campout here," Myrtle said. Gatsby stood up.

"I want to check first," he insisted uneasily. "Just to make sure. So no one gets hurt."

"Right," Tom said, rising, too. "So no one gets hurt, except for me, so you can have Daisy all to yourself. It's not going to work." Tom balled his hands into fists. "You're not going to take my wife away from me! You keep away from her, you hear!?"

"It's not like you aren't seeing another woman already," Gatsby retorted. Tom growled. He raised his fists, glaring.

"Let's settle this like _real _men!"


	4. Like Real Men

Hi! Here's chapter three. I know I'm pumping out chapters fast. It'll probably be a long story. Reviews are, as always, _greatly _appreciated. Anyway, enjoy.

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Gatsby frowned. I've never had any doubt Gatsby could take Tom in a fight, but the look on his face told me he didn't want to.

"Tom, old sport, real men would talk about this. Calmly," Gatsby said, making the mistake he'd been carefully avoiding the entire day.

"Cut the 'old sport' crap!" Tom shouted. With one sudden movement, he swung his arm and hit Gatsby, square in the face, with his balled fist. Gatsby sputtered, stumbled backwards, immediately raising his hands to his face.

"What?" Gatsby asked dumbly, reeling from the assault.

"Tom!" Daisy pleaded. "Please, stop this!" This time, her desperate plea didn't fall on deaf ears, and Tom relented.

"I think I've made my point clear," he huffed.

"I want to talk to you in private," Daisy told him, walking into the corridor. Tom followed, slamming the door shut loudly. I turned to Gatsby. He leaned on the desk with one hand and stared at the other. His fingertips were wet with blood.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Fine, old sport," he replied, though I could see the pain on his face. He was the sort of man to never admit when anything was wrong. He didn't want my pity. "Is it broken? It doesn't feel like it."

"I don't think so," Jordan replied nonchalantly. I recalled George and Myrtle were still there. They were standing off to the side, out of place in the midst of the drama. It was comical. Here, you had Gatsby, leaning on the table, still gawking at his bloody hand, me, looking at him curiously, not wanting to choose sides, Jordan, casually taking the spectacle in stride, and Tom and Daisy's argument was, however muffled, clearly audible. And then there was George and Myrtle. It was laughable.

"He's jealous," Gatsby spoke suddenly. He inhaled through his nose. Suddenly, he made a choking noise, and spat blood into his open palm. "Remind me not to do that again." We were used to the screams coming from the corridor, but suddenly, Daisy's voice rose, one word crystal clear.

"No!" With that, the door blew open, nearly flying off its hinges, and Tom stepped to the side to allow Daisy to exit. Then he slammed it shut angrily with a fierce Bang! that made us all jump. He looked at Gatsby's face, then over to Daisy, and then back to Gatsby. He smirked.

"Daisy," he chided, "Would you really want a man that can't fight?"

"I want a man that can behave in a civilized manner," she replied emphatically. No one said another word for a moment, and we all just stood there and got our bearings for what just happened.

"Weren't we going to go for supplies?" George asked. I glanced at him, startled, having forgotten he was here.

"That's right. It was _her _decision," Myrtle said, glancing at Jordan.

"I'll go," Gatsby offered abruptly.

"So will I," I said. He smiled. Daisy opened her mouth to offer to join us as well, but before she could say a word, Tom spoke.

"Daisy and I will go."

"Should we just stay behind?" George asked. "To watch over the place?"

"Sure," Gatsby replied. He picked up the table leg gingerly. "I'll break off the other three." With that, he picked up the side table and repeated the process, wrenching off the remaining legs. He handed one to each of us, and entrusted Jordan with the blunt tabletop. "Let's go."

"Where to?" Tom asked tersely.

"We'll figure that out as we go along." He slowly opened the door, and thrust the table leg through the Biter at the front of the pack that tried to fight its way into the lobby. He stepped outside. "Well, come on!" We obeyed, exiting slowly, joining him on the sidewalk, and mentally preparing ourselves for the gruesome creatures that lurked outside.

The Biters where everywhere. The streets were lined with abandoned cars that glistened beneath the bright sun, reminding us of the brutal heat. I cursed my luck. Of course this had to happen on the hottest day of the summer. One of us closed the door, and he stood in front of it, our backs pressed against the brick building.

"A drugstore!" Daisy exclaimed in a hushed tone. She pointed to a small corner store across the street. Gatsby ran swiftly across the street, goring a biter in the process. He beckoned for us to follow. It was then that I killed my first Biter. It was creeping up behind Tom, and before he even realized something was behind him, I stuck my table leg shakily between the Biter's eyes.

"Thanks," he muttered. The door to the drugstore was open, waiting for us to go in and raid it.

"Tom and Daisy," Gatsby said as we rushed inside, "You get food and water. Nick and I will get the first aid supplies. Alright?" It was a rhetorical question. Tom was more than happy to keep Daisy away from him, and I sensed Gatsby had something to tell me. Tom and Daisy went off to the left, and we went to the right. Once we were at the far end of the store, Gatsby stopped.

"I need to talk to you about something, old sport."


	5. Love Rhombus

It's been a while. School stuff... band concert's on Tuesday. And thank's so, so, so much for the reviews, _Yuna Cifer! _It means so much. A sardonic, condescending Nick would be fun. Though I was going to make Jordan somewhat like that later. And, yes, Gatsby is a bad-ass. Thank you for noticing. Here we go:

"What?" I asked him.

"Well, _this. _Everything," he replied.

"Okay."

"Daisy is going to leave Tom, I promise you that. The only thing is, I'm afraid of the aftermath. I'm afraid for Daisy, for myself, you and Jordan, and even Tom. You know what he's capable of, right, old sport?" I nodded. "He could do any number of things to me, or, worse yet, Daisy. I don't know what I'd do if he hurt her because of _my _actions. I wouldn't be able to live myself. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Alright."

"Now, there's one more thing. It's really important."

"What is it?"

"If anything happens to me, old sport, I _need _you to take care of Daisy for me. Can you do that?"

"Nothing's going to happen to you."

"I just want to make sure. If anything should happen to me, I want you to worry about Daisy, not me. Can you do that?"

"Of course," I replied, and Gatsby smiled. He started walking again, browsing the aisles for supplies.

"Nick," he said abruptly as we strolled down a long aisle stocked with first-aid supplies. "Thank you."

"What for?" I asked, piling packages of gauze into a basket we had picked up in the store's front.

"It looks like we're done," he said, waving his hand, smiling at the filled baskets.

"Alright," I said, and we started to the front.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I mean thank you for promising to look out for Daisy." He paused, and then added, "I love her." _No, Really!? _I wanted to shout. But that would be rude. So I only smiled and suppressed a chuckle.

"I'm well aware of that." We found Daisy and Tom at the front of the store, and, silently, we trudged back across the street, goring Biters with chair legs as we went along. It was quite a sight to see.

Later:

"I'm tired," Daisy complained, and we all turned to stare at her.

"Mm," Tom grumbled. "Corpses don't need sleep." We all gawked at him.

"What?" Gatsby asked, his head tilted.

"She's dead to me," Tom explained. "And so are you." Gatsby balled his fists, then opened them back up and sat on them. He was trying, at least, a greater display of self-control than any I'd ever seen from Tom.

"You're implying Daisy is dead?" George asked, breaking the silence. "And is my _wife _dead to you, too? I'd really quite like it if she were. Then maybe you could stop—"

"DON'T!" Tom shouted, enraged. "Don't say it!"

"Then maybe you could stop having an affair with her!" George roared in response, trembling, raising his voice to match Tom's. Once again, I was in the middle of an elaborate love… rhombus? No. Let's see… Daisy is married to Tom. She's having an affair with Gatsby. Tom is having an affair with Myrtle. Myrtle is married to George. So, a love pentagon? Whatever it is, I was trapped right in the middle of it, left only to stare at it, dumbfounded.

"Damn you!" Tom screamed. So George knew about Tom. How were we going to survive the Biters when we all hated each other?

"Yeah, I'm tired, too," Myrtle said suddenly. "What time is it?"

"The clocks aren't working," I said bluntly, wistfully.

"You're sure?" she replied, hoping, as I was, to draw out the nonsensical and awkward conversation as long as possible.

"Yes." Tom stood, strode swiftly into the corridor, and disappeared from sight. An agitated George followed, as well as Daisy, leaving me and Myrtle to talk about time while Jordan sat in a corner and watched.

"So, it's as if time were standing still?"

"Only it isn't"

"Oh, I see. Time goes on, but the clocks stop."

"And as time goes on, so do we."

"Uh-huh." The corridor door opened a bit.

"Old sport!" Gatsby said, sticking his head through the small and giving me an awkward grin. "Do you want to choose where you'll sleep?"

"Yes," I answered, and he threw the door open fully and walked casually into the lobby.

"Well, let's see… you could sleep with George and Myrtle. Or Tom and Daisy. Or Jordan and I." Jordan shot him an annoyed glance, and Gatsby snickered. "Tom's arrangements," he offered.

"I'd like to stay with you and Jordan," I said.

"Alright, old sport. Second door on the left. It's a bunch of desks. I moved some sofas from the lounge Daisy and Tom are sleeping in to the room, so we'll have something to sleep on. Just choose one when you're ready. I'll be sleeping if you need me. Don't worry about waking me," he said, and left.

"Time for bed!" Myrtle chirped, following shortly after Gatsby. Jordan and I exchanged a frustrated look. We both knew we'd eventually be locked out of the room; Gatsby would be doing _something _with _someone. _We just didn't know who, yet. Reluctantly, we followed.

The room was small. It held only a few desks, and the two sofas Gatsby had managed to haul in there. Much to our surprise, and delight, we found Gatsby asleep on the floor, curled up into himself, his jacket draped over him like a blanket and his tie lying on the floor beside him. He'd saved the couches for us. I took one happily, and Jordan made herself comfortable in the other. I made a mental note to thank Gatsby the next morning. The sofa was comfortable. It was warm and soft and cozy. I felt bad for Gatsby, lying there on the cold hard floor beneath one of the desks. Rolling my eyes and mentally laughing at myself, I shimmied out of my own coat and laid it on top of him. _I'll get it back in the morning,_ I promised myself. _But for now, it's the least I could do. _I laid my head down on the cozy sofa and closed my eyes wearily. Jordan breathed softly elsewhere in the darkness, and as I slowly drifted off to sleep, I watched the rise and fall of Gatsby's steady breathing. It occurred to me that we might be rotating on and off the floor. I hoped, albeit rudely, that Gatsby slept there every night. And I wouldn't put it past him to offer to do so. Finally, I fell into a dreamless sleep, counting nonexistent sheep and imagining what the next day might have in store.


	6. Jealous

Thanks so much for the reviews, guys. It means a lot. Well, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.

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I woke up late the next morning. Jordan had deserted her couch, and I could hear voices – Tom and Myrtle – outside. Gatsby was still on the floor, sound asleep. I sighed, and crawled off my comfortable perch slowly. I pushed the door open quietly, and peered outside. Jordan was standing in the hallway. The door into the lobby was slightly ajar, and I could hear Tom and Myrtle discussing something. I scooted outside.

"They were kissing," Jordan whispered, smiling at me.

"Yeah?" I asked, although I had no doubt she was right, and it wasn't a far-fetched idea to presume, anyway.

"They're arguing now, probably about what they're going to do. I think he's cuing her in on his trouble in paradise."

"He's going to try and cling to both of them," I half laughed, half whispered. "Even with what's going on around us, he'll still try to keep a hold of both of them." Jordan edged closer to the door, peering through the tiny slit between it and the wall.

"Listen," she instructed me softly. I did.

"You're insane if you thing George won't notice something when we're all trapped in here together. And Daisy, I'm sure she already knows. You're so careless, it'd be a wonder if she didn't," Myrtle muttered.

"You're the fool calling me all the time while she's around!" Tom objected.

"Listen, I'm just saying we need to be careful. We can make it work," she pleaded, realizing she was close to losing him.

"No!" Tom replied definitely. "We're done." I was surprised. Tom just broke it off. He started towards the door. Jordan jumped and scurried back into our room, and I hurried shortly behind her. She closed the door quietly, wincing when it creaked.

"That was close," she breathed. Behind us, Gatsby stirred. We turned and watched as he propped himself up on one elbow and stared at my jacket. I had totally forgotten about it, although I had intended on removing it before Gatsby awoke.

"Nick," he said groggily, turning to me. "Is this your jacket?" I smiled at the confused look on his face. He sat up, fingering my jacket lightly.

"It is," I replied. "You looked cold." He stood, shrugged, and smiled.

"It's not as hot today as it was yesterday," he announced. "Or at least not yet. It did get considerably cold last night. Thank you, old sport. Are we the only ones awake right now?"

"No," Jordan said. "Tom and his girl are up."

"Myrtle?" he asked.

"They were arguing about something. Tom told her he's done with her. He probably wants to focus on Daisy right now. She'll walk away, and she has a reason to already, but he'll be able to get Myrtle back anytime he wants." Gatsby frowned. He didn't like the idea of Tom focusing on Daisy; he was already a formidable opponent when he was focusing on another woman at the same time. Could Gatsby really compete with her husband?

"That's not good," he muttered, pacing circles around the room. "Leave it to Tom to do something as slippery as this. He's a hypocrite. A stupid hypocrite and I'm sick to death of him." Suddenly, he froze. A sly smile spread across his face. "That all doesn't matter. Daisy loves me. She never loved him. She'll leave him, and he can go crawling back to Myrtle, and I hope she rejects him."

"How do you suppose you'll make her leave him?" Jordan asked curiously.

"I don't know. Not yet, anyway. It'll come to me. Why don't we have breakfast?" he replied, moving towards the door, slipping his jacket back on. I picked mine off the floor, and the three of us made our way into the lobby, where we left all of the stockpiled supplies. Upon hearing us exit, Tom and a sleepy Daisy followed, and then Myrtle and George soon after. We each took small provisions. Myrtle and Tom exchanged occasional, awkward glances as he poured some cereal into a cup and she cut an apple into slices. We all gathered around on the lobby chairs and ate, talking about anything and everything to keep underlying tensions at bay.

Soon, breakfast was done, and we were back to before, floating around in our own little bubbles, trying to stay out of everyone else's drama while sorting out our own. I didn't have my own drama, but somehow I was caught in a big tangled mess of mayhem and insanity. Jordan and I sat in the lobby alone and chatted about some inconsequential, frivolous thing for a while, before heading back to our room, to do God knows what. Our room was empty when we got to it. For a moment, I wondered if he was at it again with Tom, when I noticed him standing in the hallway with a look on his face of sheer disbelief. Curious, Jordan and I stood next to him. He was peering into Myrtle and George's room. We followed his gaze.

"Holy crap," Jordan muttered. "Daisy!?" she exclaimed, perplexed, shocked by the sight in front of her. I gawked at the scene, my jaw dropped in astonishment. Daisy filed out of her room, followed by George, and Jordan gasped, "It's not her."

"Gatsby?" I stuttered. Gatsby froze. He turned to us in surprise and quickly groped along the floor for his shirt. A horrified Myrtle, half-naked, snatched his jacket up off the floor and covered herself with it. George moaned the same word, no, repeatedly, almost inaudibly. Tom blinked. He brought his hands to his face, then brought them back down and shoved them in his pocket. He cursed, spun around, and walked off into the lobby. Daisy shook her head.

"This can't be real," she told me.

"It is," I whispered. We joined Tom in the lobby, followed by George, and sat there in a shaken silence, too appalled to utter a word, until Myrtle shuffled in with her face red and her cheeks stroked with tears. Gatsby walked in tentatively behind her, his head hung low, hands in his pockets. Tom tried not to act upset, even though he knew everyone was aware of his running around with Myrtle. Daisy cried silently, her face wet and as red as Myrtle's. George couldn't cope with it. His wife, his dear, dear wife was off having an affair with _two _men?

"S-Sorry," Gatsby apologized, slinking back into the corridor. I followed him to our room, and he grinned wider than I'd ever seen him smile before.

"Good!" he exclaimed quietly. "You all saw! Tom's jealous and wants Myrtle back now, and Daisy's jealous and wants me now. I didn't need for you or George to see, but so be it. Now Tom can battle with him for Myrtle instead of fighting over Daisy with me." I gaped at him.

"That was all some twisted plan? Was Myrtle in on it? Or did you really just break her heart?" I asked in surprise.

"She was in on it. She wants Tom back."

"You're an idiot!"

"Old sport…"

"You really think that's going to work!?"

"Well, yes, I do."

"I doubt it will! What a mess, and I'm right in the middle of it. This is all going to backfire on you!"

"Please, Nick, old sport…"

"I should tell them!" The door creaked open.

"Tell who?" Jordan asked.


	7. Moonshine

Hi! Sorry it took so long. Here's my brief comic relief chapter, 'cause I this idea came into my head, and I thought it would be fun, and it wouldn't leave me alone. And thanks for all the reviews. I write to please myself, but to hear other people enjoy my writing is really nice. And don't worry, I have **big **plans for the next chapter. So, without further ado, I present chapter six:

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I opened my mouth to tell Jordan that it was no problem, nothing for her to worry about, but before I could, Gatsby blurted, "Nothing!" and grinned sheepishly. I elbowed him in the ribs, and he pulled away from me and glared. "Like I said, nothing!" Jordan wasn't convinced, and she laughed at his antics. It occurred to me that maybe he didn't want to keep it a secret from Jordan. I felt bad for him, only for a moment, though. All he wanted was Daisy, and I was beginning to wonder if she was the one thing in the world he couldn't have.

"Now, Mr. Gatsby, tell me the truth. Or I'll have Mr. Carraway explain it to me," she said silkily. Was it some kind of persuasive technique, to call us by our last names? Come to think of it, it seemed to work, because he faintly muttered something vaguely recognizable as a curse.

"It was a plan. For Myrtle to get Tom back, and for me to get ahold of Daisy. She was in on it. We both were. We wanted you to see, or at least Tom and Daisy," he said quickly. Jordan smiled, pleased with her success. I'll have to keep that in mind, calling people by their last names. She slinked up to him, stood right in front of him, and stared him down. She laughed.

"You're an idiot!" she exclaimed at last. "You are aware you had Daisy precisely where you wanted her before, correct?"

"I didn't," he mumbled icily. He took in a deep breath and looked at the floor, as if something interesting where down there, as opposed to the weathered hardwood floor. "Last night, when we went back to pick rooms, remember? Well, really, Tom chose them – 'We should all sleep with our spouse!' – But that's beside the point. He pulled Daisy and me into the closet where we found Myrtle and George, because we needed to settle things. She couldn't do it. I told her to tell him she never loved him. He was threatening her and seething and yelling and mad, and she couldn't do it. He said she was dead to him, and she still loved him. How can I contest to that?"

"Oh," Jordan muttered. Jordan and I glanced at each other, than at Gatsby, then back at each other. Before we could say anything, Gatsby forced a smile across his face.

"I've got an idea to lighten the mood!" he cheered, almost running out of our room. We chased him into the lobby, where he picked up one of the table legs, and shimmied out the door, hollering, "I'll be right back! No worries!"

He came back pushing two shopping carts full of booze.

"Booze!" he exclaimed. "Don't ask me where I got it from. Wine, beer, vodka… anything you want!"

"It's not moonshine?" Jordan teased, and he shook his head and smiled. Happy to see the alcohol, we all swarmed the carts, grabbing bottles of our favorites. Tom made us some fruity drink, I forget what, and we all had some of that. It was good. I had a few shots, and George dared Gatsby to drink a whole bottle of whiskey all at once. The night was a blur. It was like all of Gatsby's other parties, where the alcohol ran free and the party never quite seemed to end. Somewhere in that haze, someone suggested a game. It might've been me. We sat in a circle, and someone spun an empty bottle, and whoever the bottle pointed to, they had to kiss. We rotated clockwise, laughing and gagging and having fun. Tom and Myrtle were the first to kiss, and though such a thing would've usually been tense, the liquor eroded the awkwardness between us. George and Jordan went next, followed by Gatsby and I. The longest kiss, in my memory, was Gatsby and Daisy, and when they separated, both were lit like a Christmas tree. Though when Jordan and I kissed, it lasted a bit long for my liking. But my favorite kiss was Gatsby and Tom. Oh, trust me, you've never seen such as sight as that. And they didn't hesitate. The two locked lips without trepidation. It's that damned alcohol, I tell you.

At some point in the night, we all stumbled off to our respective rooms to sleep. I woke up next to Jordan on one of the couches. She was topless, and to my horror, so was I, and my pants were unbuttoned and pulled down to my knees. Gatsby was asleep beneath a desk. Again. Most of us ended up hungover. I didn't see George all day, Tom spent much of his time in the bathroom. My head was abuzz, and it was a struggle just to coax Gatsby to lie down on one of the couches. Daisy was fine, and so was Myrtle. If anything were up with Jordan, she took it all in stride, just like everything else. But, even despite all of that, even though nothing was accomplished that day and we all were hungover, it was worth it. None of us would've given up that one night. Because, for that small, fleeting period as time marched on, we forgot about the Biters and the world. And, most of all, we forgot ourselves.


	8. Daisy

Here you have it, another chapter. Though this one's not as lighthearted. Let me know what you think, and if you believe I portrayed it well or not. Enjoy, if you really can:

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"Nick," someone whispered. I blinked a few times and sat up, groggily glaring at whoever had woken me. It was Jordan, and she was smiling, of all things. Even here, in this… well, in this situation with the Biters and all. Her calmness was beginning to annoy me.

"What?" I hissed quietly. I didn't know why she'd whispered, but I figured it was a safe enough bet to keep quiet myself.

"C'mere," she replied hurriedly, leaping towards the door. I pulled myself off the couch, sighing, wondering what time it was, and followed Jordan out into the lobby. Gatsby and Tom were there.

"What's going on?" I asked, taking a seat beside Gatsby.

"A meeting," Tom offered.

"Tell him what we're discussing," Jordan instructed. Tom glanced at her, then looked uneasily at me, and sighed. Whatever he was discussing, it wasn't going to be a fun subject.

"We're considering moving and finding somewhere else to camp out," he revealed. Move? I thought we were pretty well off where we were, but perhaps there was a more hospitable place to stay. Somewhere with more readily available food, say, or more beds.

"Where would we go?" I questioned, already with the feeling that they had no idea where we'd go, and I had to fight the urge to just say no, and stick to where we were.

"There's an apartment building, decently sized. Twenty levels, maybe. I figured we could stay on the second floor. We'd be low enough to easily come in and out, but we wouldn't have to worry about Biters, because they can't climb stairs," Jordan explained, and I was surprised to learn they had a place in mind. "There's a pharmacy nearby. A market, a convenience store, a department store. And I know where we can get ahold of some weapons." It sounded like a good idea, certainly, but I had a few more questions before I was going to agree.

"What're we going to do once we get there?"

"Get rid of the Biters on the first floor, go to the second, kill all the Biters on the second floor, pick rooms. Each couple can share a room. You, Jordan and I can share a room again, or we can each have separate rooms, but it seems safer to stay in small groups. Even though we'll be living separately, we'll still cooperate with each other," Gatsby said, and from the looks on Tom and Jordan's faces, they didn't know he had a plan. With an accusing look at Tom, he added, "Right?" I nodded, Tom grunted, and Jordan clapped her hands and went off to find the others to announce our plan.

"Run!" someone cried, I don't remember who. We ran across the street like madmen, poking Biters' eyes out and occasionally even completely decapitating them. I jammed a jagged-ended table leg into the open mouth of one Biter, suddenly not caring about anyone but myself. Moving had been a bigger project than we'd expected. And now, here we were, right where we'd started – running along the sidewalk and darting across the street, most of us mortal enemies, shooting each other threatening looks as we made a mad dash for salvation. We were clowns from a circus out there, prancing around, being stupid. I lost track of everyone else, forgot who was in front of me, didn't realize who was behind. All I knew was, suddenly, the promised apartment building appeared on the horizon in front of me, and I just kept after it, as it grew closer and closer, bigger and bigger, realer and realer. Finally it was there, dead ahead, so close I could actually touch it, feel the cool metal door handle in my sweaty, frantic grasp, shove through into the building, and inhale the bittersweet smell of safety.

"Anyone!?" I called out, gasping for breath, letting myself drop to my knees.

"Hey," Jordan breathed, inhaling deeply. George and Myrtle appeared behind her, visibly exhausted and covered in sticky sweat.

"No Gatsby? Tom? Daisy?" I managed to utter, forcing myself back up. My hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat, as was my shirt to my chest. It was terribly uncomfortable. Jordan shook her head. There was a woosh, and the door flew open. Tom walked in, shirt bloody, (Like mine, I realized) jaw moving up and down as if he wanted to say something. No words escaped him. We stared at him questioningly. The door opened again, and this time Gatsby staggered in, with the pallor of a snowman, bloody, sweaty, gulping in deep breaths. His eyes were wet and red.

"Gatsby?" I asked, alarmed. He moved away from the door and closer to us. "What happened?" He ran a hand through his wet, windswept blond hair and shook his head. Jordan and I exchanged what-does-that-mean looks. Tom let out a gasp, entirely out of nowhere. He shimmied backwards, farther away from Gatsby. "What happened?" I repeated. He looked at me, his eyes wide, and let himself fall to the ground on his hands and knees.

"She's gone," he choked, pounding the ground with his fist, while tears streamed down Tom's face and, hysterically, he cried out. Suddenly, it made sense. I turned to Jordan, who only said one word, the same word that was on all of our minds now, the word that haunted us.

"Daisy."

We waited on the main floor for what I imagine to be several hours. Tom collected himself enough to sit with us and wait. Gatsby sat in a corner and rocked himself gently. Everything he'd spent the past five years working towards suddenly keeled over and died, and now life was collapsing before his eyes, everything he lived for fading away. Daisy was the one thing he could never have, and, unfortunately, it seemed she paid the ultimate price for this. Finally, as we watched night overtake the city through the windows, we resolved to accept her death as fact. We headed upstairs to select rooms, hearts heavy. Jordan and I picked the room we'd share, along with Gatsby, though no amount of coaxing could convince him to leave his spot in the corner, where he softly swayed, until he eventually fell asleep, muttering her name repeatedly in denial, as Jordan and I resigned to stay downstairs and keep watch for that one night. Neither of us managed to sleep, each of us haunted by that simple word. _Daisy. _

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Aw, sad. Tell me what you think, and your thoughts on Daisy. Did she deserve it? Thanks. And also, let me know if you want more or less serious chapters. Till next time, yours truly, happyferret13.


	9. Mad

**I am ****_so _****sorry! My life has been insane and my computer broke for a while, too. On my profile, it did say the story was on hiatus. Luckily, the new chapter is here. Thank you guy so much for the amazing outpouring of support, even in my absence. You guys are the best.**

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Morning light spilled in from the windows, painting the room a beautiful, sunny orange. Jordan laid next to me on the couch, her head resting on the side of it. It was peaceful, quiet, almost pleasant. And then, suddenly, someone spoke my name, softly, and the entire illusion evaporated. My cousin was dead, and the sudden realization flooded my thoughts like the light through the windows, hitting me like a truck. I glanced around, searching for whoever else accompanied Jordan and I in the lobby, and my gaze settled on Gatsby, still in the little corner he's settled in the previous night.  
"Nick?" he spoke again, staring up at me, his eyes still wet.  
"Gatsby," I replied, dumbly, unsure of what to say. "Are you alright?" I managed to choke out.  
"I'm... I've been better," he stated bluntly. I nodded, and after a few more moments of silence, he spontaneously sprung to his feet. "I should go and look for her!" he exclaimed, startling me. On the couch beside me, Jordan stirred.  
"You're mad!" I hissed back at him.  
"No, I'm brilliant!" he insisted, and I couldn't help but wonder if he really had lost his mind entirely.  
"You can't just waltz on out there all gung-ho and expect results!"  
"Why can't I!?" Jordan perked up as our voices grew louder and our tones harsher.  
"An argument!" she cheered softly, a smile lighting up her face.  
"You just can't! You're going to get yourself killed," I reasoned.  
"And so what if I do!?" he countered.  
"This is insane. You can't be so willing to get yourelf killed for her!"  
"Oh, but I am!" he cried, almost enthusiastically. Then, as an afterthought: "Old sport."  
"Gatsby, calm down! Just stop and think this over!" I pleaded. He shook his head, turned, and headed out the door, table leg still in hand.  
"Don't send anyone after me," he instructed, and with that, he was gone.

The day was a dizzying procession of one event after another, the absurdity building upon itself as the rest of the group slowly trickled downstairs. All were surprised to see him gone. And, surprisinlgly, Tom was upset by this, some bizarre, incomprehensible respect forming in the wake of their mutual loss. Everyone mostly kept to themself, and we just sat there, a hushed silence between us, awaiting Gatsby's return.

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**I know that was short. It was mostly just to give you guys something until longer updates resume. **


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